


i love you, i hate you, i can't live without you

by Victoria_Sapphire



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Breakups, Cheating, CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60 Has a Different Name, Deviant CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60, Deviant Upgraded Connor | RK900, Drama, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Everyone Has Issues, Gavin Reed Being an Asshole, M/M, Murder Investigations, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Requited Unrequited Love, Roommates, Slow Burn, Song: Take Me To Church (Hozier), Unrequited Love, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has a Different Name, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Is Bad at Feelings, based on a hozier song
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28796349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victoria_Sapphire/pseuds/Victoria_Sapphire
Summary: Androids aren't supposed to "feel". They're not supposed to love beyond the rudimentary command to obey their owners and masters. They're supposed to be unfeeling. Totally machine.So why do they feel and love?This is the reality Spencer (RK800-60) attempts to deal with and attempts to overcome as he finds himself in love with someone of his own model...
Relationships: Connor/CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60, Connor/Gavin Reed, CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60/Upgraded Connor | RK900
Kudos: 3





	i love you, i hate you, i can't live without you

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick note: Sixty's name is "Spencer" in this (he felt like a Spencer to me. I was also writing a parody of Hansel and Gretel with Connor and Sixty, and I needed a name that ended with the same as Connor's, and "Spencer" is close enough).
> 
> Nines' name is "Richard" because I think the name Richard fits very well.

I hate getting up in the morning. Waking up from charge-mode into being fully awake and ready to start your day is always so jarring. Especially when the way you're being woken from charge mode is by a blaring alarm clock. 

I stumble into the kitchen and lean against the counter. I am _not_ looking forward to another day at work. I look around the kitchenette in the apartment I share with Richard. I lock eyes on the mini-fridge in the corner, conveniently built into the cabinetry under the kitchen counter.

I can scrounge together something for us to eat while I wait for Richard to wake up. It _is_ only about five in the morning, and we go to work at about eight to eight thirty. 

I open the refrigerator door and look inside to see the contents. There’s not much, and almost all of it is backup thirium for if we get injured on the job. There’s a kind of coagulated thirium pudding sittin in the back of the fridge.

I know that I’m running a bit low on thirium, so I pull out the bowl of thirium-pudding and start doling it out into two smaller bowls. I set the larger bowl back into the fridge, and I start eating the smaller thirium pudding slowly.

Another alarm clock blares from somewhere in the apartment in the general direction of Richard’s room.

I smile and finish off the pudding just before Richard rounds the corner, rubbing sleep out of his icy-blue eyes. 

“G’morning, Spence,” he grumbles.

“Good morning, Richie,” I say in response.

Richard notices the pudding on the counter, points to it, and asks, “Is that mine?”

I nod and shift it closer to him, sticking a spoon in it. Richie hums his thanks and wolfs down the thirium-pudding.

I sit down on the couch. I take a look around the apartment. Our clashing styles are painfully evident with the couch I picked out when we first moved in together and the photos hanging on the wall that Richard took.

The sound of Richie putting the bowl of pudding in the sink to be washed later rings out through the small apartment. He walks into the living room and sits down next to me, resting his arm on the back of the couch toward me.

He crosses his legs and sticks his free hand in between his thighs. I know he’s just running through television programs to see what’s on TV, and he must not have found anything because he just leans back and enters standby mode.

I take a look through the magazine options that we have and find an interesting article from _PsychNow_ about the types of schizophrenic hallucinations.

I peer at the words on the screen as they talked about religious-oriented hallucinations.

_When someone experiences religious-oriented auditory hallucinations, they are hearing commands from “God” or “Jesus” or some other major figurehead in a religion. An example of auditory religious-oriented hallucinations, they would hear “Jesus” say to do something conventionally morally wrong. If they experience visual religious-oriented hallucinations, they see various religious imagery in their day-to-day lives that they wholly believe is true. An example of this would be seeing a burning cross in the sky._

I check the time and see that it’s 7:30. I nudge Richard out of standby mode. He snaps his head to look down at me and groans.

“What time is it?” he asks.

“It’s seven thirty,” I respond. “We really oughta head off to work."

Richie nods and stands up, stretching out legs that don’t need to stretch. I’m already at the door and slipping on my unneeded coat (it gives me a more human air, which is important for my job). I have my hand on the doorknob.

“You ready to go?” I ask.

Richard nods. I can swear I see a very, very faint baby blue dust across his high cheekbones. I don’t pay it any mind as I make my way down to the car parked in the apartment complex’s parking lot.

The apartment complex itself is converted out of one of Cyberlife’s many old warehouses. That’s something that was very common in Detroit these days; so many of Cyberlife’s old warehouses for things like androids and android parts had been converted into apartments for displaced androids after the revolution.

Including Richie and I.

I sit in the passenger seat with my hands folded in my lap. Richie awkwardly sits next to me. He’s been acting strange lately. I make it a mental note to ask him about it later. 

I scramble for something to focus on. I finally decide on what I read this morning in the _PsychNow_ magazine. “So, er, are you interested at all in psychology?” I ask.

Richard hums and tilts his head to the side. “Vaguely, yeah. Why?”

“Well, I read something simply _fascinating_ this morning in the new _PsychNow_ issue.”

“What was it?”

“It was about the types of schizophrenic hallucinations,” I say. I think about it and add on, “Auditory and visual.”

“I know what hallucinations are, Spence,” Richie says sarcastically (although it was hard to tell what with the way he speaks).

“Anyway, the most fascinating, I think, were the religious-oriented hallucinations. Y’know, hearing the voice of God or something like that. Seeing burning crosses in the sky,” I remark.

Richie is listening intently. He hums again. “Interesting,” he mutters.

And just like that, we’re sitting in silence again.  
~~~~~~~~  
~~~~~~~~  
The car pulls up to the Detroit police station, hissing to a stop. I climb out eagerly, and Richard follows eagerly.

_Like a puppy following his owner_ , I think to myself. I quickly shove the idea away.

As I approach the front desk, the secretary behind the desk locks eyes with me, and she brightens up near immediately.

“Why, hello, Spencer!” she says in a bright, peppy tone.

“Hello there, Emma,” I say through awkwardly gritted teeth and a forced smile. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Emma frowns. “It’s only been seven hours,” she says despondently.

I laugh and continue on through the door to the offices (offices, cubicles, desks, whatever you want to call them). I find my desk right next to Richard’s and sit down in it, looking down at the case file on my desk. 

I sigh as I flip through it. I make the executive decision to push it off and get some coffee instead of dealing with it at the moment.

I stand up and walk over to the alcove with the coffee pot is. I try to ignore Connor and Reed bickering over something stupid again as I grab a styrofoam cup (not exactly the most environmentally friendly, but it was the only choice I have). 

“I’m telling you, you don’t just _do_ something like that, Gavin,” Connor says.

“Do what?” Gavin asks.

Connor sighs and rolls his eyes. He doesn’t say anything in response to Gavin, but he instead notices me getting my cup of coffee. “Spencer!” he exclaims happily.

He runs up to me and throws his around me, nearly making me spill my coffee everywhere. A low heat builds up in the pit of my stomach as Connor squeezes his hardest. It’s the kind of hug that he saves only for me (and Gavin).

“How’ve you been, Spence?” he asks.

“I’ve been better,” I admit.

Connor pulls away from the hug and gives me his best puppy-eyed pout I’d ever seen. He looks like someone kicked a baby seal. “What’s wrong?”

“Just a little tired and stressed. Charge mode must not have been quite as effective as it should have been,” I admit. It’s the truth.

Connor rubs my arm. The touch sends shivers down my spine, and my thirium pump falters a little. I immediately miss the touch when he pulls away to awkwardly shove his hands in his pockets.

“Well, I hope you get better,” he comforts. “I gotta get back to work before I spend too much time arguing with a brick wall.”

Connor shoots a glare over his shoulder at Gavin after saying the last bit. Gavin isn’t paying attention.

Just as Connor leaves, I get a notification on my internal display that I have a request for a call. It’s from Richard. I accept the request.

“ _Alright, I just got a call from human homicide division. We got a case_ ,” he says enthusiastically. He’s obviously excited to get back into the field after days of desk work.

“Where at?” I ask.

“ _In an apartment complex at 1660 Dragoon Boulevard._ ”

“Rad. Meet you there?”

“ _I’m already halfway_ ,” Richie reports.

“Alright. Signing off?”

“ _Yep. See you there._ ”

The call ends. I swear under my breath. Richie has a tendency to not inform me when something is happening. 

I grab my coat and my coffee and head out the door; I hail a cab to take me to 1660 Dragoon Boulevard.


End file.
